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You had it all. You had it all this season. So why...
MAX VERSTAPPEN IS CHAMPION OF THE WORLD!
You didn't lose. You didn't win. You crushed the competence with every turn of your car and every flick on your steering wheel. But this was different.
This was your husband, the one who's been the love of your life since your 14 years old. Stealing away the dream of your life as he made the chequered flag wave before you crossed the finish line. Before your very eyes.
The roar of the crowd wasn't audible. Your earphones had the best noise cancelling system on existence, and yet there was a buzz rumbling on your ears. Not the voice of your engineer, not the revving of your engine, not even your own panting due to the exertion of the race. No. You didn't hear anything—anything but the weight of grief numbing every one of your senses part by part. If that was even possible.
The track was suddenly too rugged to race in. Your nomex was burning your skin more than normal. The sight your visor allowed felt grim, and not by the lenses. You didn't even notice you have already stopped the car until you distinguished a number 2 through the teary haze of your vision. Number 2. 2.
It flooded your mind. Engraved in your corneas as if it were the very colors that prevented your world from being purely white. 2. It wasn't what you fought for. It wasn't what you dreamed of every night since you were six. Neither what your teenage self thought of after practices that left bruised knuckles and scorching skin. Not even what you aimed at when you were a young adult, faced against the brutality of motorsport and perks of competing against the most ruthless and prepared drivers in the world.
But you were suddenly left bare inside the cockpit of your car. All your commitment, taken by the form of your childhood, spent in a racetrack, by the memories of the heavy weight of loneliness as you traveled in between countries by yourself, and by the times you gathered yourself to not break due to the harsh slap of reality that not racing like you needed represented throughout all your career.
It did matter, some would say. It was probably what your engineer was telling you through the radio and whole garage awaited to reaffirm it, but to you, it didn't matter. Not any longer. It was your all or nothing in the sport after years of waiting for a team that would trust and value you after years of not being so. Not like this. Not seeing your life goal slipping through your husband's hands—the ones you've held with and without your wedding ring on.
Defeat hit you once again, and even if you tried to refuse, this felt different. Breaking. It didn't just felt like a stumble, not even a beating, because you were crying so silently you thought you lost your voice. The sobs you'd typically let out were nowhere to be heard, and to worsen it you didn't feel like being comforted. Shivers run up your spine, an unsetting coldness seeping in your bones. Your body was sore, the sting in your eyes growing by the second. It was a crushing sentiment, one that started to consume every single inch of your being torturously.
Max. Max was waiting outside for you, you knew, he probably has already celebrated with his team and was waiting for you to go together to the podium. He would look at you with those light blue eyes you usually lost yourself in, embrace you like he only did in private, and kiss you in the only way you know: with adoration.
He is a world champion.
And yet, you couldn't bring yourself to gather the strength to stand up.
Your hands were still on the steering wheel, fingers twitching over the buttons as if you were still waiting for the race to start.
Through your mind ran the cold nights without sleeping by his side, the silent mornings just going through motions at breakfast and the silent afternoons of lonely workouts that eventually evolved into weekends apart from each other, lost evenings of rotting in bed together and seeking a sim racing companion that was no longer there.
When did it all go wrong?
You felt an ache deep inside you, reaching the surface by tearing you apart. It was the only manner to handle the grief. This grief that swallowed the world you built all your life in a matter of seconds.
You lost.